Together At Last
by x.dolcee
Summary: MERDER. A bittersweet oneshot from Derek's POV.


_A/N: I posted this a few years back, but never on here. This was written before MerDer even wanted kids, so Zola is not in this story._

The sun is just barely peeking above the horizon, tinting the sky with a myriad of colours, when Derek reaches his destination. All around him, tall evergreen trees stand tall and proud. He shivers slightly as a tiny breeze brings the fresh, minty scent of the greenery around him up to his nose. From where he stands, he can see the whole world (at least the part of it that belongs to him), and he clutches the handles of the wheelchair in front of him as he immerses himself in the halcyon memories of his life.

With a smile, he focuses his attention on the woman in front of him. The years have etched wrinkles in her skin, and her once brilliantly blonde hair is now a dull grey, but even so, Derek cannot pull his eyes away from her beauty. He blinks a few times, thinking not for the first time how amazing it is that although his eyes have lost the strength they had in his younger days, he can see her with clarity; the contours of her face, the shawl that drapes around her frail shoulders. He bends down as much as his stiff back will allow him to and brings his mouth close to her ear.

"Remember this place? You always loved the view." He goes around to the front of the wheelchair and settles down on the ground in a criss-cross; a position he can still somehow manage despite his age.

She says nothing, her green-grey eyes gazing at the scene in front of her in silence. Derek sighs as he sees the familiar curtain of confusion sweep across her facial features. He is used to it, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to bear.

He turns towards the view, takes her hand, and says, "This is our place. The place where we used to go to get away from our busy lives. The last time we came here…" His voice trails off for a second, and he glances up at her face for some sort of reaction.

He gets nothing, except for an expression of detachedness from the rest of the world.

"We kissed," he continues, his voice picking up after a while. "A lot. And then you told me you loved me. It felt like the climax of our story…even though it sounded like every other 'I love you' you've ever said to me."

Silence overtakes him again as he brushes his fingers over the bottom of her shawl, going over the tiny, intricate designs over and over again. Here and there, a couple of stitches are missing, solid evidence that their daughter is just as bad a knitter as her mother. Somewhere in the distance, a bird warbles its first call of the morning.

"Two weeks after that, you nearly killed yourself when you set the house on fire," Derek says. "I think you were trying to make me dinner. And you've always been a terrible cook, but I think you at least had enough sense to know to put the pan on the fire before pouring the oil."

She shifts a little in her seat, slowly lowering her head to look at him.

"We pretended it was nothing. But then I came back from work and found you ironing the clothes." His laughter is slightly tinged with bitterness. "The wire wasn't connected to the plug. When I asked you about it, you asked me what I was doing in your house. And everything pretty much became clear after that. It was something we'd always feared and never discussed, and before we knew it, it came."

Derek stands up, groaning as he feels his old bones complaining about the movement. He traces his hands over her cheekbones, trying to read the lack of expression in her eyes. "Look at me, I think I'm rambling. It's all your fault," he chuckles. "You barely talk anymore, so I've had to do more talking than I've ever done in my life. I never realized how chatty you really were until your rambling stopped and I had to fill the silence by myself." He runs his fingers through her hair, and his voice softens with uncertainty. "Do you really not remember anything, at all?"

He doesn't allow himself to put wood on the barely distinguishable flare of hope in his heart, because it has been a long time since she left him for her own world. So it surprises him greatly when she responds, "Derek."

"What?" His heart begins to move on a rhythm of its own. _Thump. Thump thump. Thump._

Meredith raises her eyes to meet his, and he notices the intense passion that glimmers around her irises. "My husband Derek takes me here often," she says, her voice slightly scratchy from under-usage. "He loves nature. He claims that we're going to have a son. I think he just wants someone to hike his trails with him."

"What do you think you're having?"

Her face softens with a tender smile, and Derek feels his heart warm. "A daughter, of course. I wouldn't mind a son…but a daughter…a little girl would be nice."

"Have you thought of any names?" He knows she has, but he asks anyway, just so he can keep her talking a bit longer.

"Sara," Meredith replies. "My little Sara."

Derek laughs silently as he thinks of his stubborn daughter. He remembers her blatant refusal of a baby booster, her first day of school, her first boyfriend (whom he shamelessly chased off), her college days…and then finally, her own marriage, and his beautiful granddaughter. Somehow it had all worked out. Despite Meredith's many freak outs and worries, despite their work hours, the minor stumbles that had made them fall, it had all worked out. Their little Sara had experienced a wonderful childhood, and grown into a respectable young woman.

"She'll be the most beautiful baby in the world," Meredith is saying as he brings himself back to the present. "I hope Derek doesn't spoil her rotten. I love him, but really, he's rather overprotective."

"I'm sure that's because he loves you too much," he responds, slightly miffed.

For a second, her entire being lights up with happiness, and she smiles at him, her eyes glimmering with love. "I know. He does. And I love him just as much, maybe even more," she declares. "He's the love of my life."

With that confession, confusion dims her features again, and Derek swallows the disappointment welling up in his throat. She loves him; that is all he asks for. "I love you too," he says to her, though mostly to himself.

They spend the next few hours like that, listening to the mellifluous sounds of nature around them; he is lost in his thoughts, and she stares vacantly ahead, although Derek is sure that somewhere in the depths of her soul, her thoughts are spinning and spiraling around her.

* * *

><p>Three years later, Derek is lying in his bed alone on the night of Thanksgiving, staring up at the ceiling. It had been his first Thanksgiving without Meredith for more than half a century. Her passing had not been a very big affair; she would not have willed it to be. Three generations of family and friends, thankful patients and eager students had stood in silent vigil at the funeral of the woman who once thought she would get old and die alone. And he, he had sorrowfully brushed his hands against her baby soft hair for the last time.<p>

Earlier in the night, he had picked at his food at dinner; not because it was not tasty, after all, Sara had inherited his cooking abilities, and her roast turkey is delicious enough to kill for. However, Derek had sat in his seat at the head of the table and looked down it, realizing how aged he was. It was a poignant scene, for no one ever dared to take the seats of those who had passed. In his mind, he had transported himself back to his younger days; when he, Meredith, Cristina, Alex, Izzie, George, Lexie, Thatcher, the Seattle Grace company, his mother, and his sisters had graced the table at Thanksgiving. When he opened his eyes again, he saw his pride, his life, sitting all along the table instead.

Lying in the dark now, he realizes that he no longer belongs in this world. He is a weak old man that loves his family and wants to cling on to them, but he knows that it is time to let the new generations live their life the way they wish. He wishes he could hang around forever to guide them, but he also understands that sometimes, they must be allowed to make mistakes so they know what they're missing; his own life is the perfect example.

His intense, blue eyes shine in the darkness as he swivels them around the room. Pictures were haphazardly tacked up onto the walls (Meredith never liked organization), and random tidbits from his nearly 100-year old life lay strewn about all over the place; on the drawers, the floor, and gathering dust in the corners. Somewhere in the walk-in closet next to him is Meredith's wheelchair, neatly folded up and packed away, next to her old Converse shoes and lab coat.

His gaze pauses directly in front of him, where a picture of a laughing Meredith is standing on top of the bureau, squished between two vases of lavender sprigs. Right over her is their Post-It. The Post-It. Derek looks at it and smiles, tears building in the back of his eyes.

And then, in the next moment, a miracle happens. He feels her presence before he sees her. His Meredith appears, standing before him in her lab coat, her hair tied in a messy ponytail with indignant strands framing her face. She is young again, her face beautiful and fresh. However, the most significant thing he notices is the lack of confusion on her face. Her sharp, green eyes gaze at him with amazing clearness, beautiful recognition, and insurmountable love.

"Meredith?" Derek whispers into the darkness, towards the figure. "Is that you?"

His wife pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, rolling her eyes impatiently. _Duh_, her expression read. And then, her arms reach out for him.

He has been a doctor all his life, and he knows that Meredith is too dead to be alive, but in that moment, he doesn't care. He reaches his arms out, waiting until she prances into his embrace, and then he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, not knowing that his soul has already left his body. He hugs her, feeling her heart beat against his, her warmth, her love.

When they finally pull apart from their embrace, Meredith is smiling at him, her eyes lit up with excitement and amusement. He brings his hands up to the side of her face, and lets his lips brush against hers.

"Meredith," he sighs against her lips. Finally, they are together again. She entwines his hair in her fingers, and slowly guides him into the light. They are still kissing when the light disappears and the room is dark and silent again.

In his bed, Derek's head falls sideways and his eyes close gently.

They are together again.

* * *

><p>At Christmas time, Sara Shepherd wipes the snow off the special bench right outside of Seattle Grace Hospital. She places two bouquets of flowers on the seat, and her eyes run over the words carved ever so delicately in the marble.<p>

_In Memory of Derek and Meredith Shepherd  
><em>_Loving parents, grandparents, companions, friends, doctors, and teachers.  
><em>_An example of love that was dark and twisty, but bright and shiny._


End file.
